Space Between
by Subject
Summary: Modern AU. Claude is a middle school teacher in charge of summer school classes. He's doing just fine until a certain student winds up in his class.  ClaudexOC. Shota, yaoi, and possible violence and or insanity in future chapters. OC is protagonist.
1. Far far away

**A/N: Hey there. This is my first ever fanfiction. I've been writing my entire life but I've always been to shy and unmotivated to try fanfiction. But I finally decided, why the hell not?**

**Based off a role play I'm doing, so excuse me if it's a little choppy. Again this is my first shot at fanfiction so please be gentle, and enjoy~**

**Disclaimer: Claude Faustus and Kuroshitsuji belong to Yana Toboso. All mentioned books belong to their respected owners.  
>Braxton Crowell belongs to me.<br>**-

**B**raxton stared at the door that stood in front of him; it was a sturdy wooden door, with a very small rectangular window that sat just above the worn out handle. He thought this window was much like one they would have in a prison: very small, and very difficult to look into. But Braxton wondered if it was just as difficult to look _out _of as well. He rocked on his heels a bit and wondered still, if he should or shouldn't enter the room beyond this door. He already knew that no one could see him through such a tiny, tiny window—so no one would know that he was there in the first place, therefore they wouldn't know he hesitated and left. It would be like he didn't even exist.

But the whole reason Braxton _had _been hesitating, was because the room beyond this door happened to be his classroom: Summer School. He had to take these classes or else he'd fail the 8th grade, he knew that much. But he didn't care. He hated school, and passing his classes just meant he would have to take more classes. He went through this process nearly every day since he started summer school, it's only been a week and he was really starting to consider dipping out and hanging out by the ol' creek. Skip some stones, chase dragon flies, catch a toad or two… the usual stuff a kid does. But that nagging little 'you have to do it' still existed in his young mind, a delinquent but not yet so rebellious.

Braxton adjusted his glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his lightly freckled nose and thought 'Well I might as well get it over with'. He makes an agreement with himself that he'll buy ice cream to reward himself after class. But he also thought he should show how much he hated this whole situation. Because if there's one thing Braxton hates, it's being fake. He walks into the classroom, and interrupts the lecture his teacher, Mr. Faustus, (Braxton calls him by his first name: Claude) is giving. All eyes were on him as he walks to his desk in the back of the classroom and drops his backpack on the floor. It wasn't very loud as it fell because all he had inside of it were a couple of books and a big, fat, cranberry scone, wrapped in wax paper. He stole it from the kitchen this morning—mother had made it for a little get together she was having and she told all the kids not to touch them. But Braxton thought 'fuck you' and took one any way.

He was already reaching into his bag and pulling out his favorite book _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland _when Claude interrupted him. "Is there a reason you're late, Mr. Crowell?" He asked—sounding just as monotone as always. Not all adults sound like that; Braxton remembers watching _Peanuts_, and all the adults sound like a retarded trumpet. That's what he thinks Claude sounds like too. He answers with a simple "Yes," because Claude didn't ask for him to explain himself, and Braxton likes jumping through loop holes. But instead he found himself in a twist when Claude announced "Then an hour after class should make up for the time you've lost."

Braxton tries to act unaffected by lifting the book to his face and flipping to the chapter he left off on and says "Sure," like it doesn't bother him at all. But it does, he had to hide his furrowed brow with the book.

Claude isn't really surprised by the choice of literature Braxton chooses, because he thinks that Braxton is just as much of a space-out as Alice had been in her adventures. However, when Braxton doesn't do any work and even eats in class he lets it go. Detention will be enough for him.

Class rolls on steadily, and finishes without any further disturbances. The rest of the class leaves Braxton behind, but he doesn't mind because he hates _every single one of them. _He takes his time putting his things away because he figures 'why rush?' he tucks his beloved books carefully away in his bag and collects his notebook(which he only doodles in) and closes it up and tucks that away as well.

On his way to the door, Claude steps in front of him and locks it. For a second Braxton thinks 'uh oh' but doesn't think too much of it. Claude can't do anything to him without having a lawsuit shoved up his ass. He's safe.

"Please sit," Claude says and heads over to his desk and picks up a book. Even from a distance Braxton can tell that it's _The Lord of The Flies_. He rolls his eyes and sits down at the closest desk to him. "I want you to read the first chapter of The Lord of The Flies and write a one page summary on it," Claude said then set the book down in front of Braxton. It's an old beat up paper back copy. It has a picture of leafy plants all over the cover.

Braxton blinks once or twice while he stares at it. But then he chirps up "no problem!" he sits back casually. "I've read that book more times than you've blinked in a day!" saying that was probably way too exaggerated but the point was he knew that book like the back of his hand. "I can tell you right now what it's about without writing a summary," Braxton says and places his hand on top of the book to show he's not peeking through the pages. "See, there's this boy named Ralf and another one who everyone calls Piggy—and they're on this island after a plane crash. They go 'round searchin' until they find this conch shell, and they use it like a horn to alert the other survivors where they are—" he continues to explain the first chapter flawlessly, and Claude doesn't mind letting him finish.

"That's good," Claude says; honestly a little surprised that Braxton knew it so well. "Then you'll have no problem writing it down on paper, will you? Take your time, you still have an hour." a good counter attack, Braxton thinks. He isn't pleased and he's scowling at the adult. He has an idea though, not a good one but he fires anyway.

"Why should I have to write it down?" Braxton asks "do you have trouble remembering this book?" and he thinks he's cool because he can lean back in his seat and balances on the back legs. He stretches his arms over his head and it tugs up his over-sized clothing a bit. For a thirteen year old—who normally like dressing with the latest fad since it's just recently mommy stops picking out their clothes for them—Braxton dressed rather _odd.  
><em>Instead of wearing the typical band t-shirt, baggy pants, and colorful hooded jacket, Braxton wore clothes like a button up shirt, a sweater-vest, knee length shorts and knee-high socks. He also attempted to tie a heartstring about the collar of his shirt, but it was uneven and messy. The top half of him was rather oversized, and Claude figured Braxton must have taken his 'father's' clothing. The shorts, socks, and shoes fit just fine however. No one likes to have their pants falling to their ankles when they're just walking about and minding their own business after all.

Claude frowned at the insult. "Hardly," he sighed. "I've read this book to every class each year since I've started teaching. And I've worked here for ten years." He said as if it was supposed to be impressive.  
>"Golly!" Braxton says in mock surprise, "How old are you? Forty?" he thought he must have guessed pretty close because Claude doesn't answer him. Simply pushes up his glasses and looks back at Braxton expressionlessly.<p>

"You still haven't written the summary."

By now Braxton is a little annoyed that his dodging isn't working. Claude is very persistent; he won't give up. But neither would Braxton. "Fine!" He says and pulls out his notebook. "I'll write." And he does, but it isn't what Claude asked for: because Braxton _never _does what people tell him to. Instead, he recalled a poem he once read in the book _Watership Down_. He thought this poem would baffle Claude—since obviously the man has poor taste in literature (at least Braxton thinks so).

When he's finished writing—which takes a while because he wants his handwriting to look beautiful—he hands the sheet of paper to Claude; rather, he shoves it in the man's face. Claude is unaffected but just takes the paper from Braxton.

_(the poem):  
><em>_"The wind is blowing, blowing over the grass._  
><em>It shakes the willow catkins; the leaves shine silver.<br>Where are you going, wind? Far, far away  
>Over the hills, over the edge of the world.<br>Take me with you, wind, high over the sky.  
>I will go with you, I will be rabbit-of-the-wind,<br>Into the sky, the feathery sky and the rabbit._

_The stream is running, running over the gravel,  
>Through the brooklime, the kingcups, the blue and gold of spring.<br>Where are you going, stream? Far, far away  
>Beyond the heather, sliding away all night.<br>Take me with you, stream, away in the starlight.  
>I will go with you, I will be rabbit-of-the-stream,<br>Down through the water, the green water and the rabbit._

_In autumn the leaves come blowing, yellow and brown.  
>They rustle in the ditches, they tug and hang on the hedge.<br>Where are you going, leaves? Far, far away  
>Into the earth we go, with the rain and the berries.<br>Take me, leaves, O take me on your dark journey.  
>I will go with you, I will be rabbit-of-the-leaves,<br>In the deep places of the earth, the earth and the rabbit._

_Frith lies in the evening sky. The clouds are red about him.  
>I am here, Lord Frith, I am running through the long grass.<br>O take me with you, dropping behind the woods,  
>Far away, to the heart of light, the silence.<br>For I am ready to give you my breath, my life,  
>The shining circle of the sun, the sun and the rabbit."<em>

Claude is about to dismiss it and throw it away because it isn't what he asked for, but he quirks a brow at how well written the poem was. 'He hasn't read that book' Braxton figures. If Claude had read it, he'd definitely recognize the poem.

Claude is done, he hasn't given up but he's letting go for now. "Very well," He says and pushes up his glasses. Showing no expression, speaking monotone…as always… "You may go," Braxton hops out of his seat and collects his things while Claude unlocks the door. He's about to leave but Claude's stern voice stops him.

"Braxton." The boy looks back at Claude expectantly. "I expect you to be on time to class tomorrow, I'll bring you to class myself if I have to."

"Sure thing," Braxton says, shrugging it off with a big smile. Then he's off. He feels just as clever and tricky as a rabbit. Because even though he wasted about 30 minutes of his time (not that Braxton values time) he got away without doing a single thing Claude asked of him.

"Surely, I deserved that ice cream now. Well done, Braxton. Well done indeed."


	2. Idle hands

**A/N: The "point-of-view" sort of switches around a bit in this one. No big deal. Still slowly moving along but we're getting some where. Bare with me, here fellas.**

**Disclaimer: Claude Faustus and Kuroshitsuji belong to Yana Toboso. All mentioned books belong to their respected owners.  
>Braxton Crowell belongs to me.<br>**-

Claude stopped by Braxton's house in the morning; he was going to make sure that _brat _made it to class on time. He went up to the large, but rather shabby looking home and knocked. An older woman answered the door, maybe in her 50's. She looks like a mother. Claude can hear children in the house behind her: chaotic screaming and yelling. The woman looks tired. "Can I help you?" she says with a fake smile and fake pleasantness to her voice.

"Yes," Claude adjusted his glasses a bit, standing with his spine perfectly straight. "I'm Claude Faustus, Braxton's summer school teacher; he's been skipping the first half of class since the beginning of this week." He explains, and this woman (assumed to be Braxton's mother) looks shocked, but not _really_. "Oh no—" she says "If I had known—" She lets out a tired sigh. "I'm going to have to have a talk with that boy…"

Claude raises a brow. "He's not here now?" He asked. "I was going to bring him to class."  
>"No, he's gone off already. When Braxton wants to go, he goes. There's no stopping that child."<br>"I see."  
>"I'm so sorry about him. I'll talk to him tonight."<br>"Alright."

She feels awkward because Claude's responses are short and don't carry much substance. She starts to shift and wants to close the door. "Well—" she's about to tell Claude that she's very busy and that it was nice talking to him and apologize again for Braxton's behavior but he ends it for her.

"Thank you for your time ma'am. I've got to be going now." He says and leaves her door step, gets in his car, and drives. 

***  
>Summer school started at noon because even <em>stupid kids<em> who didn't pass the 8th grade deserved to sleep in on their summer break. So Braxton was taking his sweet time. He stole some money from 'Mom's purse and went down to 'Happy Burger' (the local burger joint). Braxton had a habit of calling the first meal he ate in a day 'breakfast' be it morning, noon, or night. So his breakfast was a double-cheese-burger, fries, and a chocolate malt (but the malt made him kind of thirsty so he ordered a coke too). He knew that junk food shouldn't make him happy. But biting into a hot juicy burger and crispy french-fries and washing it down with an ice cold coke is _fucking amazing. _Braxton always thought that local burger places had to be the sixth wonder of the world.

He often finds himself humming and swinging his legs (because his feet don't touch the ground when he sits in big people chairs) while eating greasy food like this. It just _feels _good; no matter how bad it is for you. It _shouldn't _make him happy, but it _does. _And he doesn't really give a fuck.

All he can really think about now is how Claude is going to bring him to class. Would he be hunting him down? And what would Claude do when he found him? Pick the kid up and carry him off to class? Braxton giggles in amusement as he finishes his meal. He dumps his trash on his way out. The sun is shining bright and he skips off to find something to do. 

By the end of his adventures, Braxton shows up to class just as it's being dismissed. He watches as the other kids leave and he stands in the door way, watching Claude pack his things. "Oops," he says unsympathetically. "I guess I slept in," he gives a very fake yawn.

Claude doesn't say anything to him until he's done collecting his things; but first comes the cold, hard, stare of disappointment. That wipes the smug little grin right off Braxton's face. He's confused.

"Braxton, if you're not going to take these classes seriously then you should consider dropping out of summer school and being held back instead." He says and walks past Braxton, a slight wind from the movement blows through Braxton's sandy brown hair. It feels colder than it should.

"Hey—" the boy swallows hard and follows after Claude. "That's not funny… hey—" He's a few feet behind Claude because his legs are short, and Claude's are long. Claude doesn't stop to wait for him though; he keeps walking through the narrow hallway. The lockers lines up against the wall make it feel even narrower. "Are you listening to me?" Braxton says louder.  
>"I don't HAVE to take these classes! I'm smarter than any other punk in this piece of crap school."<p>

"Intelligence means nothing if you do nothing _with _it." Claude replies calmly, he's slowing his pace down a bit so Braxton can stumble and catch up to him.  
>"You <em>are <em>smart, Braxton, but incredibly lazy. I don't want you taking up space in my class room where another student wanting to learn and come to class can take your place."

"How can I _want _to learn when I already _know?" _Braxton asks, he stares at the back of Claude's head as if it would burn a hole right through his skull. He wish he could but super powers are just out of his reach.  
>"And I'm NOT lazy!" He nearly shouted, but he remembered he had to control himself. He frowns, and frowns, and frowns some more. But Claude still isn't looking at him, and that really pisses him off.<p>

"You don't know anything, Claude. Did you know your name literally means _lame?"_ He asked in a frantic need for response. But he was belting this out by pure instinct. He wasn't sure if he regretted saying it or not. That is until Claude says:  
>"Of course; although I would expect a child of your intelligence to be more mature for his age… And not make rude comments on one's name. Lazy, and lacking manners."<p>

Finally when he's almost to the exit door (long hall way, right?) he stops and looks at Braxton, who looks extremely frustrated and disgruntled. He hadn't taken into account that he had just judged a pubescent boy on his maturity. He doesn't consider asking Braxton _why _he acted this way—and that's all Braxton really wants but at the same time he's too afraid to imply that. Acting like a little shit was all he can do.

While Claude is looking at Braxton he does bother to ask, however what he expects to accomplish by acting like this. Braxton doesn't answer. Instead he decides to be tricky again.

"You're old, right Claude?" He says "You probably had to stand and say lessons in class for grammar or whatever. You might recognize this one—" Braxton folds his hands neatly in front of his belly, looking rather proper. "How doth—" He begins but his voice sort of squeaks; so he clears his throat and starts again: 

"How doth the little busy bee improve each shining hour,  
>and gather honey all the day from every opening flower.<br>How skillfully she builds her cell; how neatly she spreads her wax,  
>and labors hard to store it well, with the sweet food she makes—<p>

In works of labor or of skill, I would be busy too,  
>for <em>Satan<em> finds some mischief still  
>for idle hands to do…"<p>

That wasn't the entire lesson. But it seems Braxton had made his point—whatever his point was. He seems a little relieved as he blows a strand of hair from his face and he notices Claude closing his eyes and simply listening; like he really enjoyed the poem. Must be reminiscing, shitty old goat.

"Mm, very well put," he says. And Braxton seems a little frightened for a moment. "Excuse me, I have to go home and grade today's tests—the one you missed," he paused. "I expect you to be in class tomorrow, on time." He turned and continued his way and pushed the exit door open, he spared the boy one last glance before shutting the door behind him, and said with a grin: "And thank you for the compliment."

Braxton's hair seemed to bristle in building rage and fear. Claude smiled, he _smiled. _Somehow Braxton thought that was unnatural, it was gross and horrifying. He hadn't complimented Claude. No!

"You old fart!" He yelled after Claude and ran in the opposite direction in total fear.


End file.
